Whistles pierced the air, marking the end of the work day. Peter Silver hoisted his massive shoulder-bag and hummed in harmony as he strolled across the shipyard, through the steam, back towards the mountain. Granted, the shipyard was already on the mountain, some sections were even in it. But when most of it hung out the side, supports webbing down onto the slope and into the endless surface-dust below, it felt more like one was on some great airship—like the one half-built in the main chamber—simply passing close enough to step onto the land.
As he approached the entrance, old Billy called out to him from the office.
“Oi, Peter, you comin’ to the bar for once?”
Peter called back to him without stopping. “With what you pay me? Nah, just the usual. Going to the place with the people and stuff.”
The engineers laughed alongside Billy in the office. Peter smiled at that, knowing they wouldn’t be laughing if they knew the “stuff” was the company’s copper stock in his bag and the “people” were eager buyers. With the Coalition buying up all the copper it could for military hardware, demand had skyrocketed. He didn’t necessarily like doing this, but money had to come from somewhere and Billy sure as hell wasn’t doling it out. Peter fancied himself rather good at the Game, but his employment contract put Billy at too big of an advantage to manipulate any better pay here. That was one part of the Game that some people forgot: choose your battles.
Over the next hour, Peter transformed. As exhaust hissed up from street vents and spewed around him, a Breton cap was produced from the folds of his clothes, flowing through the steam in the traditional Azure style. Surrounded in the streets by mechanical steeds kicking dust and pulling carriages, a thick scarf wrapped around his neck and mouth. Moving behind a stall as the marketplace closed, thick brass-framed goggles completed his mask; a mask that sealed in the day’s sweat to cook with the grease and dust itching his face.
Finally, Peter had made his way to “the place.” Said place was behind the Grendois Theatre; open enough to discourage any unpleasantness, but not a place anyone walked by. Rather, the streets far to either side held most of the city center’s traffic. A perfect location.
The clocktower rang 1900 hours. Precisely five minutes later, “the people” entered the space from the opposite side. The issue was, “the people” were supposed to be just one person. Two entered the alley, hands in pockets, flat caps, dressed in black. That was not part of the deal, they knew this by now. Their footsteps echoed through the alleyway as they approached.
Peter stopped them at ten meters. “What ever happened to ‘come alone?’”
The one on the left spoke first. His tenor voice identified him as the usual buyer. Peter hadn’t yet figured out who the man was; a dangerous problem in this city.
“You know how life is. Sometimes the streets are fine, sometimes they aren’t. And just like that, I have some company.”
“And just like that, my asking price went up ten percent.”
The one on the right responded immediately, his voice rasping, almost grating, in anger. “You think you can just change the deal like that?” So, he was a part of this, not just backup.
“Coming alone was part of the deal. Now one of you pay up or you can go back to Evelyn empty handed.”
The two shadows looked at each other. So, he had been right about the inventor doing the actual buying. Choose your battles; when you hold the information, who cares who holds all the cards?
The regular finally spoke up. “She’s not gonna be happy when she learns what you know.”
“Then she can find another seller,” Peter said, flatly. “Good luck with that.”
The men hesitated again. Peter knew they’d make the right choice. Everyone in the coalition played the Game. Whether or not these two were any good at it, they could recognize the situation before them. Finally, the two men stepped forwards.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Peter interjected. “One.”
The regular stepped back and the larger, raspy man continued to step forwards. Arriving, slapping a coin purse into Peter’s grip. Peter weighed it in his hand, cocking his head until the man got the hint and tossed some extra in. Peter pocketed the money and produced the cloth-wrapped goods.
“Fifteen kilograms of pure copper, as promised.”
The man snatched it from Peters hand before his voice scratched through Peter’s ears.
“Don’t you dare pull a trick like this again. Understand?”
His breath reeked of tobacco; Peter could barely breath through it.
“I prefer the other guy.” Peter coughed his way through those words. “He comes next time, or the new price becomes permanent.”
If more than a single lantern were present in the alleyway, Peter would have seen the man turn beet red. As it was, he could make do with observing the man’s silhouette stalk back down the alleyway.
Satisfied, Peter turned to leave the alleyway. At its mouth, about to rejoin the crowd, a soft voice startled him.
“Copper is quite the mystery these days.” Peter spun to face the voice, a woman with clothing to mark her as foreign, none of the sweeping fabrics worn in the Coalition to hide motion. She was from Montagne, by the slight accent. “The Azure Coalition holds the world’s majority of copper mines, and yet supply is at an all-time low here. Where does it go, and what do the people do as it becomes a necessary production resource?”
Peter scoffed. “Same thing we always do: scrape to get by. Nothing changes.” He turned to leave, to be done with this woman. Questions weren’t good while he was out like this.
“Come now, Peter. I just want to talk.”
He froze. This was not good. He was not supposed to be caught out here.
He turned, as casually as he could, to stare at the woman through his thick goggles. A pouch hung loosely around the waist of her corset, where she had pulled out a small parchment book and a charcoal stick.
“What do we have to talk about?”
She sighed at this.
“Look, I despise playing your little Game—there is a world outside of all that—so I’m going to be blunt here. I’m not after you. You can go back to your shit job after this and make shit money. I want to know what the Coalition is doing with all that copper, and you must know something with all those government contracts the shipyard takes up. I want that knowledge, nothing more, nothing less. So why don’t you tell me, or I tell old Billy what you get up to evenings.”
Cornered, by a foreigner no less. Her hands twitched and her stance shifted constantly, and yet here she was with all the information, demanding his cards.
“You may say you don’t play the Game,” Peter dodged, “but that’s some deft playing there.”
“Ugh, I told you. I despise everything about the Game of Houses.”
“Nope. There’s no houses down here. It’s every man for himself. In this alleyway, it’s just you, me, and the Game. Now, if I happened to have any insight, which I may or may not, the way to find it would be at The Silver Candle. They have some fine brandy there.”
As he approached the entrance, old Billy called out to him from the office.
“Oi, Peter, you comin’ to the bar for once?”
Peter called back to him without stopping. “With what you pay me? Nah, just the usual. Going to the place with the people and stuff.”
The engineers laughed alongside Billy in the office. Peter smiled at that, knowing they wouldn’t be laughing if they knew the “stuff” was the company’s copper stock in his bag and the “people” were eager buyers. With the Coalition buying up all the copper it could for military hardware, demand had skyrocketed. He didn’t necessarily like doing this, but money had to come from somewhere and Billy sure as hell wasn’t doling it out. Peter fancied himself rather good at the Game, but his employment contract put Billy at too big of an advantage to manipulate any better pay here. That was one part of the Game that some people forgot: choose your battles.
Over the next hour, Peter transformed. As exhaust hissed up from street vents and spewed around him, a Breton cap was produced from the folds of his clothes, flowing through the steam in the traditional Azure style. Surrounded in the streets by mechanical steeds kicking dust and pulling carriages, a thick scarf wrapped around his neck and mouth. Moving behind a stall as the marketplace closed, thick brass-framed goggles completed his mask; a mask that sealed in the day’s sweat to cook with the grease and dust itching his face.
Finally, Peter had made his way to “the place.” Said place was behind the Grendois Theatre; open enough to discourage any unpleasantness, but not a place anyone walked by. Rather, the streets far to either side held most of the city center’s traffic. A perfect location.
The clocktower rang 1900 hours. Precisely five minutes later, “the people” entered the space from the opposite side. The issue was, “the people” were supposed to be just one person. Two entered the alley, hands in pockets, flat caps, dressed in black. That was not part of the deal, they knew this by now. Their footsteps echoed through the alleyway as they approached.
Peter stopped them at ten meters. “What ever happened to ‘come alone?’”
The one on the left spoke first. His tenor voice identified him as the usual buyer. Peter hadn’t yet figured out who the man was; a dangerous problem in this city.
“You know how life is. Sometimes the streets are fine, sometimes they aren’t. And just like that, I have some company.”
“And just like that, my asking price went up ten percent.”
The one on the right responded immediately, his voice rasping, almost grating, in anger. “You think you can just change the deal like that?” So, he was a part of this, not just backup.
“Coming alone was part of the deal. Now one of you pay up or you can go back to Evelyn empty handed.”
The two shadows looked at each other. So, he had been right about the inventor doing the actual buying. Choose your battles; when you hold the information, who cares who holds all the cards?
The regular finally spoke up. “She’s not gonna be happy when she learns what you know.”
“Then she can find another seller,” Peter said, flatly. “Good luck with that.”
The men hesitated again. Peter knew they’d make the right choice. Everyone in the coalition played the Game. Whether or not these two were any good at it, they could recognize the situation before them. Finally, the two men stepped forwards.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Peter interjected. “One.”
The regular stepped back and the larger, raspy man continued to step forwards. Arriving, slapping a coin purse into Peter’s grip. Peter weighed it in his hand, cocking his head until the man got the hint and tossed some extra in. Peter pocketed the money and produced the cloth-wrapped goods.
“Fifteen kilograms of pure copper, as promised.”
The man snatched it from Peters hand before his voice scratched through Peter’s ears.
“Don’t you dare pull a trick like this again. Understand?”
His breath reeked of tobacco; Peter could barely breath through it.
“I prefer the other guy.” Peter coughed his way through those words. “He comes next time, or the new price becomes permanent.”
If more than a single lantern were present in the alleyway, Peter would have seen the man turn beet red. As it was, he could make do with observing the man’s silhouette stalk back down the alleyway.
Satisfied, Peter turned to leave the alleyway. At its mouth, about to rejoin the crowd, a soft voice startled him.
“Copper is quite the mystery these days.” Peter spun to face the voice, a woman with clothing to mark her as foreign, none of the sweeping fabrics worn in the Coalition to hide motion. She was from Montagne, by the slight accent. “The Azure Coalition holds the world’s majority of copper mines, and yet supply is at an all-time low here. Where does it go, and what do the people do as it becomes a necessary production resource?”
Peter scoffed. “Same thing we always do: scrape to get by. Nothing changes.” He turned to leave, to be done with this woman. Questions weren’t good while he was out like this.
“Come now, Peter. I just want to talk.”
He froze. This was not good. He was not supposed to be caught out here.
He turned, as casually as he could, to stare at the woman through his thick goggles. A pouch hung loosely around the waist of her corset, where she had pulled out a small parchment book and a charcoal stick.
“What do we have to talk about?”
She sighed at this.
“Look, I despise playing your little Game—there is a world outside of all that—so I’m going to be blunt here. I’m not after you. You can go back to your shit job after this and make shit money. I want to know what the Coalition is doing with all that copper, and you must know something with all those government contracts the shipyard takes up. I want that knowledge, nothing more, nothing less. So why don’t you tell me, or I tell old Billy what you get up to evenings.”
Cornered, by a foreigner no less. Her hands twitched and her stance shifted constantly, and yet here she was with all the information, demanding his cards.
“You may say you don’t play the Game,” Peter dodged, “but that’s some deft playing there.”
“Ugh, I told you. I despise everything about the Game of Houses.”
“Nope. There’s no houses down here. It’s every man for himself. In this alleyway, it’s just you, me, and the Game. Now, if I happened to have any insight, which I may or may not, the way to find it would be at The Silver Candle. They have some fine brandy there.”